Volumes
by Zellarest
Summary: When Narcissa volunteered to take the Mudblood to her holding place, she hadn't expected the experience she received upon walking down the corridor with this... Hermione girl. / Slight AU! Rated T for violence. Written for the QLFC.


After several hours, the blade dropped to the ground with a clatter and the screaming ceased. Scrawled across the girl's forearm was the contemptuous word, a darkest red of her own blood. Narcissa smiled unpleasantly at her limp form. Though she wished to convince herself the insufferable girl had brought it on herself, something at the back of her mind nagged incessantly at her. What if it were Draco? Lying on this very floor, tears pooling on the surface of the polished hardwood? His screams echoing off the stone walls, to be remembered until the end of her days?

Her sister turned to Lucius with eyes dark as the deepest recesses of the darkness that haunted her dreams, both wild with glee and dull with dissatisfaction. "Lucius. Take the filthy mudblood."

He quirked an eyebrow. "And do what with it?"

"I don't care _what _you do with it, just get rid of it."

Lucius bowed his head, the depths of his eyes glittering with a certain madness Narcissa couldn't exactly place. Like a child given candy floss on the day of a carnival, she decided.

He took not one step toward her before Narcissa snapped, "No."

Bellatrix turned her gaze onto her. And this time, the eyes held no hints of glee. Only rage. "What?"

Lucius focused a dumbfounded look on her. His eyes were wide, lips parted as though he wished to say something but couldn't put pen to page.

Narcissa didn't flinch. "I'll take her," she clipped. "To the room. She may still possess valuable information unbeknownst to us yet. It would be in our best interest to keep her alive."

Bellatrix watched her intently. Her lips were drawn into a tight line and her wand was held tight in her grasp. Unblinkingly Narcissa met her unwavering gaze, chin held up and mouth held in a perfectly neutral position. The tension in the air was palpable.

Finally Bellatrix broke the gaze and spit, "Fine. Put her in the room. I'll deal with her later." There was an established understanding to the hidden meaning of her words. Not a soul in the house remained unaware of the room made of stone, bare as a dirt road on a rough winter evening.

Narcissa nodded, looking briefly to Lucius before taking measured steps before the limp girl. The expression on her face was that of both relief and terror, the latter obscured deep within the varying shades of brown. All eyes were on Narcissa while she took the girl by the arm and wrenched her to a standing position. A pained whimper escaped her when she did. It was strangled and high-pitched, tearing at Narcissa's heartstrings.

Still, she snapped, "Move, you pathetic wench."

Her lips pulled taut into a straight line. Sweat beaded on her glistening forehead, her face as pale as pearls. _Hermione,_ Narcissa recalled. _Something so regal for a girl so undoubtedly plain_. With a slight downturn of her lips she began dragging the Hermione toward a corridor that appeared to have no end. Darkness crept at the edges where the light tapered off, leading only to pitch blackness. Hermione squeaked weakly, clawing at her arm with the same lack of force found in her voice.

After a moment of her desperate wrangling, Narcissa finally spoke up with a dangerous undertone to her voice. "Cease your attempts at escaping this instant or you'll find something heartily less pleasant than your current situation at the end of my wand."

That quieted her quite successfully.

When she spoke, her voice hardly trembled, unlike Narcissa would have expected. "Why have you not had me killed? I have no information."

"Do not speak. You are not permitted to ask questions."

"Because there are no answers."

A sharp crack rang in the previously still air. The girl looked at her with a set jaw and a bold gaze, unfazed by the physical abuse. She had faced much worse at the hands of Bellatrix, that Narcissa knew in far too much detail.

"What is this room? Tell me," she demanded. They were not far from the room then.

Narcissa scarcely resisted striking her again. "You have no right to information as prisoner. Shut your filthy mouth and quiet your useless chatter."

"I refuse to be treated so harshly. I know you don't have the nerve to touch me with the weakest of curses. You know the bounties you would have on your head at the slightest touch of me."

The girl was confident, having placed the utmost trust in her friends to come rescue her. The thought would have been nice, had the current situation rendered it so naive and childish.

While Hermione's words did not tremble, Narcissa's certainly did. What she couldn't tell was whether they did from anger or fear. "The Lord is to win this war. No one will be here to save you. Particularly when your precious Potter has died. You will soon follow in his lead." They had nearly reached the room now.

She retained her confident manner as she continued. "And what of you? If you think for a second we will truly lose, you will find yourself sorely mistaken. Good always triumphs over evil. Having enough hatred in your heart to be evil never brings anything good, no matter the cause. You will lose."

Her eyes shone with stubborn pride, lips upturned in a slight smile. The sight of it sent Narcissa's stomach churning, heart leaden with the truth of her words echoing mercilessly in her mind. The second she raised her hand to strike the smug smile off the filthy Mudblood's face, screams erupted from the end of the opposite end of the corridor. Wretched, terrible screams of rage and terror and the panic that incites riots. The kind of screams that speak volumes.

Hermione grinned weakly, looking Narcissa squarely in the eye. "You see? Good can never fail. It is the only thing that keeps the balance of the universe in check. You can never win."

The terror rising in her, threatening to overflow and consume her, was all too genuine. With a scream Narcissa struck the girl, leaving a deep cut across her cheekbone. It quickly bled and streamed down her face, dripping off her chin and onto the carpet.

Then she laughed. Just laughed. It held a hint of madness and of the same glee Narcissa saw in the eyes of her sister. Before Narcissa could make the slightest move, Hermione viciously spat blood into her face. A roar escaped Narcissa just as she dug her nails into the ravaged skin of her arm and proceeded to drag her the rest of the way down the corridor, away from the screams. The impudent girl didn't scream, didn't say a word. She didn't even lose her smug smile. Not even when Narcissa threw open the door to the room and revealed the bare stone, devoid of furniture or windows or light. Only shackles attached to chains anchored to the wall decorated the room.

Narcissa shoved her into the room, finding pleasure in the way she tumbled downward and scraped herself on the harsh stone. Through all, not a single sound fell from her damaged lips. The door closed with a thunderous slam.


End file.
